


two hearts, apart, drift together

by gravitiesfall



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim, Fluff, IVE WANTED TO DO THIS FOREVER, Killugon Day, M/M, Pacific Rim AU, Sort Of, my personal html formatting struggles, tell me they wouldn't be drift compatible though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 23:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13305486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravitiesfall/pseuds/gravitiesfall
Summary: The first time he sees his copilot, it’s during a fight.“I’m Killua,” offers the boy, as he paces around the edge of the ring. His steps are light and graceful, like a cat’s.“I’m Gon!” he replies, even though what he really wants to say is,of course you are, or maybe,will you be my copilot and also marry me.or: there's a first time for everything, even when you're saving the world in a giant robot.especiallythen.





	two hearts, apart, drift together

**Author's Note:**

> happy killugon day 2018! i meant to write a fic longer than this, but i procrastinated, so this is what we ended up with. thank you so much to hunterxhell on tumblr for coming up with killugon day, and thank you to all the creators out there!! seriously, you guys are SO TALENTED. you inspire me so much, and i love both writing these boys and seeing what everyone else has come up with.  
> as always, shoutout to rae, my picture perfect partner in au-related crime, and have fun!

_ Five _ .

 

The first time he sees a kaiju, he’s nine years old. 

 

At first it’s just a strange  _ crash-thud-rush  _ sound, like someone is stomping around in a puddle but the puddle is the Pacific Ocean and trying to stomp back. He stops at the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea and squints at the horizon. There’s some sort of thrashing speck in the distance.The longer he looks, the more he can make out -- limbs, wings, a beak. Two specks, grappling in the ocean.

 

“Aunt Mito!” he yells, and turns and runs back along the path. His boots, a little too big, slap the worn earth in time with the offshore  _ boom _ s. “Aunt Mito, there’s a kaiju! It’s right off the island!” 

 

Mito is standing by the clothesline, hanging laundry up to dry, when he leaps over a fallen log, crashes the last few steps to their house, and tumbles to a stop at her feet. “There’s a kaiju,” he repeats, “and I think there’s already a jaeger caught up to it! They’re fighting in the ocean! Aunt Mito c’mon-- you gotta see it!” He tugs at her skirt, the faint crashing sounds lending him urgency. 

 

Mito, though, doesn’t look excited. Her face immediately drops into worried creases. “Gon, no,” she says. “Stay away from the coast. What if they come closer?”

 

Gon doesn’t entirely understand. “Then I’ll be able to see better! I’m not gonna get hurt, Aunt Mito, I promise. The jaeger will win and we’ll be fine!”

 

“No, Gon,” snaps Mito, but he’s already decided to take off running, back over the log and on the path until he’s at the edge of the woods. The fight’s still too far away to really see, but Gon bends his knees and  _ one-two-three- _ jumps to scale a tree to maybe get a better vantage point. He climbs as high as he can, which is pretty high in his opinion, and scoots out to the very end of a more solid branch to squint at the horizon. 

 

It’s still hard to see, but he can sort of make out dark silhouettes in the distance, one humanoid, one vaguely crablike. He squints harder. Maybe it’s a bird. 

 

Whatever the kaiju looks like, it’s only about ten more seconds before a blast of white light explodes from the jaeger and there’s a terrible scream that echoes out over the waves as the kaiju falls. The jaeger stands in the same spot for a few seconds longer before punching a robotic fist in the air in victory and beginning to wade back towards the horizon. Gon watches until he can’t make it out at all, then slides down the tree trunk and runs all the way back to Mito. 

 

In their home, on the wall across from the kitchen sink, hangs a framed picture. It shows a man, smirking at the camera, wearing a hat with the brim pulled low and slanted. In the background is a massive structure of metal and concrete, and directly behind him is an enormous armored robot. 

 

Gon stares at the picture and knows more than decides that he’s going to be a jaeger pilot someday. 

 

_ Four.   _

 

The first time seeing his jaeger is after his second year at the pilot academy in the Anchorage Shatterdome. 

 

“Her name’s Fisher Thunderstorm,” says Leorio, propping an arm on a nearby support to lean against it. He’s half-smiling like he wants to look cool but is too proud to entirely manage it, which is fair because out of everyone in Control Center he’d had the most hand in overseeing its production. “Newest Mark-5, and our fastest yet. She’ll be done by the time you’re out of the academy.” 

 

Gon grins, wide and excited, bouncing up onto his toes like he’s still nine instead of sixteen. He knows already. He’s seen more than a few jaegers, living right next to the Shatterdome, and he  _ knows.  _ The half-finished metal shell, the steel beams criss-crossing inside, the barely begun cockpit -- he feels like he’s already worn them in, could trace the blueprints across the concrete floor in chalk. This jaeger is definitely the one. “She’s perfect!” he says through his smile, and Leorio nods, still staring at Fisher. “I wonder who’ll pilot her with me?”

 

“Yeah,” agrees Leorio absentmindedly, then seems to realize what he said and swats him across the shoulder. “Hey, brat, cut the cocky attitude. You’d need some damn good simulator scores to earn a jaeger like that.”

 

Gon laughs. It’s immediately lost to the buzzing whirring ruckus of the Shatterdome, which makes him laugh more. He really really loves this place. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I can definitely do it. I  _ will _ definitely do it.”

 

_ Three.  _

 

The first time he sees his copilot, it’s during a fight.

 

He -- “he” being a pale light-haired boy, taller than Gon and slender -- is sparring with a younger trainee, Zushi, who’s at a clear disadvantage. They’re using staffs. The boy -- unfamiliar to Gon, which is rare at the academy -- moves so fast even Gon can barely track his arms as he spins and strikes. One -- a blow to the wrist. Two -- Zushi’s staff is on the floor. Three -- the new boy’s staff is at Zushi’s throat. 

 

Gon knows then, too. The boy grins, sharp and bright, as he steps back for Zushi to grab his staff, and it’s already familiar. “Fight me next!” he calls, cupping a hand around his mouth and waving, and the boy turns bright blue eyes on him. An electric sort of feeling tugs at his cheeks and spine as Gon grabs a staff from the training rack and steps up, not breaking eye contact.

 

“I’m Killua,” offers the boy, as he paces around the edge of the ring. His steps are light and graceful, like a cat’s. 

 

“I’m Gon!” he replies, even though what he really wants to say is,  _ of course you are _ , or maybe,  _ will you be my copilot and also marry me _ . There’s something about Killua’s expression that makes Gon think he knows too, and that he’s thinking  _ yes _ .

 

_ Two. _

 

The first time they drift is almost perfect.

 

“Your sync levels are off the charts,” mutters Leorio over the comms, like it’s an afterthought to whatever buttons and switches he’s pressing that are allowing Fisher Thunderstorm to come to life around them. Lights flash on and off, washing the cockpit in green and blue like the stripes running down Fisher’s side.

 

“Ninety-three percent and rising!” reports Bisky cheerily. “Oh, I’m so excited. I  _ told  _ you, these two are the best thing to come out of that academy since Rafflesia Interest four years ago.”

 

“Please,” says Kurapika. They sound tired, but then again Kurapika always sounds tired. “Keep telling them how amazing they are. That will work out well.” 

 

On the left side of the cockpit, Killua grins his same sharp grin and crosses his arms -- or tries to. They’d agreed to keep the armor as light as possible, but all of the suits are a little bulky, Fisher’s gray ones included. “It doesn’t really matter. We know we’re awesome whether you tell us so or not. Right, Gon?”

 

“Hm,” says Gon, pretending to think. “Well, I don’t know about me, but I definitely know how amazing you are!” He grins for maximum sincerity and watches as Killua’s whole face flushes on cue, hands loosening around his helmet on reflex. He barely manages to avoid dropping it, and Gon laughs.

 

“At this point you do it just to mess with me,” grumbles Killua, shoving his helmet onto his head in an effort to recover his dignity. “Well, joke’s on you now. I’m about to know every embarrassing thing you’ve ever done.”

 

“Well!” says Gon, stumped. “Well, same here!” He tugs on his own helmet and calls, “Bisky! Is the bridge ready yet?”

 

“Oh, it’s been ready,” says Bisky. From the amusement choking her voice, it’s obvious she’s trying not to laugh up in Control. “I just like to listen to you two bickering. If you could even call it that.”

 

“Flirting, maybe,” puts in Leorio, and Killua sputters. Then there’s a sharp  _ ow!  _ and Kurapika’s voice comes through. 

 

“Stop teasing them,” they say. “Alright, Gon. Killua. Ready?”

 

Gon looks over to Killua. Killua looks back and nods. The familiar buzzing-pounding-racing feeling courses through him as together they say, “Ready.”

 

Leorio grumbles something unintelligible. There’s the sound of more switches being flicked, and then he says, “Alright. Initiating neural handshake in three. Two. One--”

 

Everything -- Fisher’s cockpit, the lights, the comms -- everything is sucked away. Blue flickers at the blurry edge of Gon’s vision as images flick past, leaving fleeting impressions as new ones instantly take their place. Some of them are familiar. He feels the embrace of sunlight on his shoulders as Aunt Mito scolds him. His feet hit the ground hard as he runs through the woods. A rush of excitement courses through his throat as he’s accepted into the Academy. He makes his bed for the first time at the Alaska Shatterdome. More and more unfamiliar memories stream forward. He sees Killua, younger, feels vaguely hollow as a man with dead black eyes tells him how to hit where it hurts. He sees his hands -- Killua’s hands? -- moving to brush a young girl’s hair with solid, steady affection. A voice tells him he can’t just  _ leave  _ the Tokyo base, Kil, this is your  _ home! _ He feels the impression of a hand on his shoulder as he pulls away. He sees -- Gon? --  _ himself _ , through someone else’s eyes, maybe -- focused, tired, sleeping in his bunk in the Academy dorms. Laughing, yelling, smiling. Introducing himself. He sees Killua, holding a wooden staff, circling the ring the first time they met. He hears, faintly, someone calling,  _ “--on! Gon!” _

 

With a start, Gon pulls himself out of the stream of memories. His ears are ringing a little, but he can hear Bisky saying, “There we go! Nice job, you two!”

 

“I did all the work,” says Killua, but there’s a current of triumph running in the back of Gon’s brain that makes him want to holler and somehow he knows it’s Killua’s. “Gon was being  _ nosy. _ ”

 

Gon does the mental equivalent of sticking out his tongue and says, aloud for Control’s benefit, “Was not!”

 

_ Were too _ , says Killua, but this time he’s thinking it directly, in words with block letters and vague impressions of shoving Gon in the side. He’s having fun with this, Gon can feel it, and he wonders how many ways they can figure out to use the drift. He hopes they ghost drift for a while after this. Killua responds on reflex: a vague impression of excitement, agreement, and, surprisingly, affection. 

 

Gon responds with images of a surprise hug, a wrapped present -- startled, but happy. Killua sends staticky confusion, fuzz and blur, until finally realization like a popping balloon and heavy embarrassment.  _ Sorry _ , he thinks in words.  _ Didn’t mean to. _

 

Gon sends back more confusion. He’s not entirely sure how Killua is managing the words thing so well, so he pictures their hands, clasped together like a handshake, and an open book.  _ No secrets in the drift _ . Then he strengthens the impression of happiness, just to be safe. Some sort of relief soothes the static, so he figures he did something right. 

 

_ You’re an idiot _ , thinks Killua, but there’s even more affection than the first time, barely contained, like there’s a leaky dam waiting to burst. 

 

“How are you feeling?” asks Kurapika. Computer keys clatter on the other side, like they’re mid-report already. Knowing Kurapika, they probably are. 

 

“Um,” says Gon. “Drift-y?” Killua’s amusement crashes in the back of his head.

 

“Your sync levels are almost perfect,” says Kurapika. “It’s remarkable. Perhaps we should use this opportunity to test Fisher in the water.”

 

“Ooh, yes!” says Bisky, ever eager for a chance to push her students. “This is the perfect chance to--” She cuts off abruptly. Over the comms, a faint siren echoes.

 

“No way,” mutters Leorio. “No freaking way.”

 

Thundercloud impressions of foggy confusion and lightning worry. “What’s going on?” says Killua.

 

There’s a few seconds of whirring silence before Kurapika answers, “There’s an event. Off the coast of British Columbia in Canada. Our station is the closest.” 

 

_ Our turn,  _ thinks Gon, heart rate rising, and pictures the simulator, his and Killua’s names in bold on the record list. “Then let’s go!”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” says Leorio. “Not so fast. You two have barely finished training.” Then, further from the mic, “Hey! Any other jaegers ready?” A few seconds later, “Seriously?” He’s back up against the mic as he sighs heavily and reports, “Arrow Wasp is down indefinitely after that mess a few weeks ago, and Rafflesia Interest is under repairs. Everyone else is stationed at different bases right now.” He sighs again. Gon imagines him pushing his circular glasses out of the way to rub the bridge of his nose. Killua thinks,  _ old man _ , and both of them laugh. “I guess you two are going for it after all.”

 

“Yes!” cheers Gon. pumping a fist in the air as much as the supports and gear allow. 

 

_ Weird, _ thinks Killua, then says it out loud. “You’re weird.”

 

“Well, I can read your mind now, and you’re just as excited as I am,” says Gon. “So there.” 

 

“Enough,” says Kurapika. “Are you two ready for the drop? We’ll instruct you through all of this. It’s exceedingly similar to the simulator.” 

 

_ Duh _ , thinks Killua. “Yeah, we’re ready.” 

 

There’s a brief pause, and the bay doors grind open, massive transport vehicles moving their jaeger forward to the exit. The sky outside is clear but pitch dark, cut through by massive roaming lights. There’s a second pause. Then Fisher Thunderstorm is lowered into the Pacific and Leorio says, “All clear.” 

 

The ocean is choppy and rough. Their floodlights cut through the thick blue night and cast a yellow-orange glow over the gray water that tugs at Fisher’s torso. 

 

_ Even better than the simulator _ , thinks Gon, and pushes their right foot forward into the sea. 

 

Winds batter at Fisher’s hull as they wade into the open ocean, but they’re no more than fleeting impressions against the collective consciousness of Killua-and-Gon -- not really separate people, anymore, but --  _ ugh what’s the word _ ….

 

A picture of angles on a worksheet -- a brief combined distaste for math -- before something from the left-ish part of the drift supplies  _ complementary angles _ and they keep slogging forwards.

 

“Keep on course,” says Kurapika. “Ahead and to your left.” 

 

_ Never took this long in the simulator,  _ complains one or both of them, but it’s hard to really feel unhappy when they’re piloting, about to fight for real for the very first time, when they’re  _ together  _ like this, totally unbeatable.

 

“Kaiju in range,” reports Kurapika mechanically as they approach a patch of raging waves and mottled alien skin.

 

“We see it,” reports Killua, or maybe Gon -- at this point it’s a little hard to tell who’s saying what, just that it’s being said. The monster is tall and wide, spiny ridges around its neck, flapping translucent outcroppings above its head and under its limbs. 

 

_ Rabbit ears,  _ thinks Killua. 

 

_ Bird wings _ , thinks Gon. 

 

There’s the impression of a smile, a  _ we’ll-settle-this-later  _ glancing off the drift, and they step as one into a fighting stance. 

 

“Clear for combat,” says Kurapika. 

 

They make the first move.

 

_ One. _

 

Their first ghost drift lasts for days.

 

It’s the strongest right after they get back to the Shatterdome, almost like they never exited the neural bridge in the first place. 

 

“My guess is it’s cause your compatibility was so high,” says Leorio, as they stand in glass-walled Control for their first official briefing. Their canvas jackets,  _ Fisher Thunderstorm  _ across the back, rustle as they brush shoulders. 

 

“You’re naturals,” comments Kurapika. They look even more tired than they sound, bruised undereyes emphasizing the pallor of their face. “Overall, good work, and good job making it quick. Please try to get some rest, though. Officially you have not graduated yet, and although I can’t imagine Commander Netero being too mad, I don’t want anything to keep you two from becoming full-time jaeger pilots.” 

 

_ Looks like Kurapika needs to take their own advice _ , thinks Killua, sharp and clear. 

 

“Really though,” Gon says out loud. “Kurapika, when was the last time you slept?”

 

_ If they slept they would have less time to yell at us about responsibility and doing our gen ed homework _ , thinks Killua.  _ I know for a fact that takes up at least seven hours of their day. _

 

Gon laughs that time and instantly regrets it when Kurapika fixes him with their infamous glare. 

 

“On second thought, connecting you two telepathically was a mistake,” they say, spinning back around in their chair. “You’re dismissed. And your gen ed homework  _ is _ important.”

 

Both sides of the drift freeze over with shock and more than a little fear. 

 

_ How did they know _ ? thinks Gon. 

 

_ Yikes,  _ agrees Killua, with the equivalent of a grimace. 

 

As they walk out of Control and along the metal catwalks crisscrossing the Shatterdome, Gon turns to Killua. “I’m--”  _ hungry, let’s get  _ “--food!”

 

Killua elbows him -- not hard enough to make him lose his balance, but hard enough to hurt a little. “Either talk or use the drift. You gotta choose.”

 

“Aw, but that’s--”  _ no fun! _

 

Killua rolls his eyes and pictures pancakes with chocolate syrup. Gon counters with fruits and the food pyramid poster on the back wall of the gen ed classroom.

 

The mess hall is surprisingly empty -- empty being relative, when there’s a full shift of jaeger pilots and crew plus students from the academy to feed.  _ Time?  _ Gon wonders, and Killua shrugs. 

 

“Midnight, maybe? One?” He stifles a yawn as they get into line at one of the open stations to grab food. Gon takes an orange and toast with peanut butter and frowns as Killua pours a bowl of the sugariest cereal he can find and adds chocolate milk.

 

They drop their trays at the unoccupied end of a table about half full of academy first-years.  _ So,  _ thinks Killua, sitting down heavily,  _ about the kaiju. _

 

Gon silently pictures a bird. 

 

“It was not!” says Killua aloud.  _ It was a damn rabbit!  _

 

Gon pictures the feathery outcroppings on the kaiju’s back, water sluicing off of them as it rose from the sea. “Rabbits don’t have feathers, Killua.”

 

“But it wasn’t actually a rabbit, it was a kaiju, so that doesn’t matter,” argues Killua, shoving his spoon into his bowl. “And--”  _ besides _ ,  _ did you even see  _ “--its ears?” 

 

The trainees at the other end of the table give them a strange look and huddle closer together. 

 

_ Whatever,  _ thinks Killua. His mouth is full of cereal, which is maybe why he’s using the drift instead of speaking.  _ Most of them won’t even be drift compatible. Bet they’ll be cut in the simulator. _

 

_ Jealous, _ agrees Gon, and laughs. “Who can’t decide between talking and drifting now?”

 

_ Shut up _ . It feels like it’s meant to be rude, but the affection from earlier leaks through, staining the words with warmth.  _ Maybe I like drifting, all right? _

 

Gon comes up with a memory of Killua saying, “Duh,” and throws it back at him.  _ I already know how you feel! _

 

Killua sighs and shovels another spoonful into his mouth.  _ I know. No secrets in the drift. Not that we really keep secrets in the first place.  _ He jams more cereal in his mouth and chews slowly.  _ ‘M tired. Hurry up and finish so we can go sleep. _

 

Gon imagines eating as slowly as possible. Killua imagines kicking him in the shin. 

 

“Kidding,” he says, because Killua’s kicks hurt even when he doesn’t mean them to, and gets up to dump his orange peel in the trash. Killua tags along and puts his bowl in the dish bin. 

 

“Okay,” Killua says, and rubs his eyes.  _ Let’s take the shortcut. _

 

They follow the back way out of the Shatterdome, a narrow hallway they’d found after sneaking out of their dorm the first night they roomed together. It connected right to a janitor’s closet they’d ducked into to avoid a teacher, which was in turn right across from the stairs up to student rooms.

 

The stairs are kind of a struggle. Sometimes they race up and down the four flights from the entrance to their floor. They’ve been expressly banned from jumping the railings, not that it stops them. 

 

_ Record?  _ asks Gon, upon failing to remember. 

 

_ Two and a quarter seconds _ , supplies Killua.  _ Zushi timed it. _

 

_ Wanna race? _

 

_ Don’t even joke like that _ , and something like a yawn.

 

The lights of the stairwell are the same yellow-orange on the concrete walls as Fisher’s floodlights on the gray ocean. Gon turns a corner on the landing to the next flight and wonders if he’ll think of piloting every time he takes these stairs now. 

 

_ We were… kinda awesome _ , thinks Killua, and then,  _ our floor. Finally. _

 

_ Hey, Killua _ , says Gon into the bridge, as they trudge through the halls back to their dorm. 

 

_ Yeah?  _ Killua’s mind is distinctly tired, loose and soft like he’s already mostly asleep.

 

_ I’m so happy it’s you. I wouldn’t ever have wanted anyone else. You know that, right?  _

 

If Killua was properly awake, he’d definitely be embarrassed about that. But instead, his emotions come one at a time through the drift, clear as stars in the Anchorage sky: genuine surprise, then a sort of understanding, then a surge of something, solid and deep. The image is the two of them, back to back, shoulder to shoulder. The way it pulls at Gon is like the ocean, rising and falling in the corners of his heart, bubbles popping in his sternum. It’s a familiar feeling.

 

_ Yeah. Me too,  _ responds Killua, and blinks, slowly and tiredly. There’s an eyelash on his cheek. 

 

_ Oh _ , he realizes, feeling sort of stupid,  _ this is love. I love him.  _ And then, into the drift:  _ I love you. _

 

Killua’s shoulder bumps his.  _ I know. _

 

They pass three more doors, marked 4596, 4597,and 4598, before reaching door 4599. Gon pushes it open --  _ one day we’ll remember to lock it  _ \-- and collapses onto his unmade bed. 

 

_ Move _ , says Killua, and falls on top of him. Gon scoots to the side, until he’s against the wall, and turns so that his face is vaguely pressed into Killua’s shoulder.

 

_ Good night,  _ he says, but Killua’s already asleep.

 

_ “Ready, Fisher Thunderstorm?”  _

 

Killua, at his left, smiles his perfect lightning smile --  _ excitement heartbeat training understanding jaeger kaiju ocean meeting equal balance  _ **_love_ ** \-- and nods. 

 

“Ready,” they answer as one. 

**Author's Note:**

> that's all! feel free to leave kudos, or to comment if you have something to say! thank you so much for reading, and again, happy killugon day :')


End file.
